


Cannot Unsee

by LumaBoop



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Cumshot, Humiliation, M/M, MasterAssassin!Ezio Auditore/Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, Oral, Rimming, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumaBoop/pseuds/LumaBoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dive into the apple sends Altair's mind to that of the world inhabited by an assassin destined to match him in skill. Altair's POV <b>NOTE</b>: This was written before it was revealed that Altair and Ezio do not share ladder ancestry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>I remember nothing except the dream I had. I’d be a mad man not to: my blood runs hot in remembrance of that lucid dream…</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cannot Unsee

**Author's Note:**

> First person perspective is one of my favorite perspectives to write in, especially with characters that have such interesting personalities and histories that cause their dialogues to to come across a certain fashion. It's like putting on their skin and speaking as they would speak, and thinking as they might think. Remembering things as they might remember them. Altair just so happens to be one of those characters I enjoy to mimic.

\------------------------------

Malik says that I have been unconscious for near a week. I shall take his word for it; I don’t remember much after studying that accursed artifact one lonely night. I remember nothing except the dream I had. I’d be a mad man not to: my blood runs hot in remembrance of that lucid dream…  
  
It started in eagle vision. I was perched on top an unfamiliar structure within a foreign land. All I could focus on was that of the people’s auras and an alluring noise that elated the atmosphere. Never have I experienced such jubilation outside the walls of a noble’s palace. The citizens were dancing in the streets, performers executed outlandish human stunts, and musicians continuously flooded my mind with what could only be described as the most addictive melody to have ever stimulated my ears.  
  
I recall closing my eyes for a second to absorb this exotic land’s ambiance, letting my soul carry through the people. However, the mirth of the evening was snatched away after a shattering scream pierced through the atmosphere. My eyes, still trapped in eagle vision, snapped open to behold a blue aura hovering over that of a yellow, then nonexistent, aura. The surrounding blue auras backed away from the intruder while red auras rushed through them, calling out to the murderer in their native tongue.  
  
I followed the scene, using the rooftops’ strange architecture to keep up. In contrast to the flatness of the Holy Land, the roofing there would have made assassinations much easier and escape more probable.  
  
I kept out of sight, observing this nimble man as he easily outrun these guards, I assumed. His free running reminded me so much of myself that I couldn’t help but try and sneak closer to the scene. I climbed up the top of a cross and watched as the man had been cornered by the red auras. They pointed their weaponry at him accusingly, moving in to end his life, but I could sense that it wasn’t the end. No, this man had something that would keep him alive.  
  
In an instance, his aura jumped backwards off the edge of the building, disappearing. I remember gasping, thinking this man had killed himself in desperation. However, my eagle vision spotted his aura dashing away through several narrow alleyways while the guards were left perplexed on the rooftop.  
  
Had that man just performed a leap of faith?  
  
My curiosity stroked, I stalked the man by rooftop. He ran far from the scene, using crates and high beams to establish himself onto the roof top as well. By then, he’d slowed down to a brisk jog, trotting across narrow wooden structures and hoping over pillars as if it were flat ground. So impressed was I with this man’s skill that I’d slipped on a bird’s nest, giving away my position.  
  
My eagle vision marked the man’s aura yellow as he picked up speed, no doubt startled due to my mistake. Whether it’d been due to my conditioned instincts or the fact that it was a dream, I gave chase to him. I wouldn’t allow the man to leave my sights. I must have chased this figure half way across that strange town, but I finally cornered him at the top of a seemingly religious castle. The man had looked over his shoulder, checking for anything to jump into. To my fortune, nothing was there, for the man let out a noise of discontent. I moved in closer, my hidden blade poised for this man’s throat. It was at this point that I wished that my eagle vision would dissipate and I could look upon the face of my target. It’s always been the greatest pleasure of mine to memorize the look of my target during his last minutes of life.  
  
Four more steps forward and the man charged at me with only bare fists. Or so I believed until I heard the distinct discharge of a hidden blade. My mind switched modes, no longer simply the predator to the prey, but a predator against another. Had I not discharged my own blade to shield my neck, the man would have had me dead.  
  
I didn’t have the time to catch a glimpse through his hood as my ears burned from the second coming of the distinct metal uncoil of the hidden blade. I pushed myself backwards, nearly escaping a jab to my torso that would have surely ended my life twice over. Gaining my composure, I pull a throwing knife from my waist, evening the odds.  
  
My ears did not deceive me. This stranger bore two hidden blades, one that looked identical to my own, and the other more cylinder in shape, as if to have more uses than simply stabbing. Neither ring fingers were removed. Was this man truly an assassin or simply an imposter to this land’s Brotherhood?  
  
There was little time for me to think on the matter, for the man gave none to use. Silently, he sprinted towards me, hands poised like that of an eagle’s talons. He never ceased his attacks, giving me no opportunity to counter, his grace like that of a concubine’s twirl. Forced to recede, I tripped on the weird roofing, sliding down until my body landed on smooth surfacing. I groaned, trying to re-establish my senses and sit up, but I was swiftly pinned, the man’s knee grinding into my back as he took the tails of my red sash and wrapped both my wrists together over my head. I could hear his labored breathing as he flipped me on my back, drawing his sword and digging the blade through my sash, effectively lodging my wrists to the roofing.  
  
At this point, I remember that my eagle vision had finally dissipated, but all that I was able to gather was that we were stationed in an area of the roof that was surrounded by all fours within a very thin bedding of soft hay. The sunk-in area felt darker and more secluded, and with my hands rendered useless as well as my legs, the man’s weight effectively pinning them, my adrenaline was at its peak.  
  
I managed to observe the man’s attire in full clarity. Clad in mostly black, gold, and red, I could not pin him to a specific class; was he a noble? A commoner? A scholar? Something in between? Thinking that his face may give me a clue to his status, I was disappointed to discover that his hood shaded his eyes and half of his face very well; I was only able to make out strong facial hair and…  
  
…and a scar suspiciously identical to my own.  
  
The man must have saw my face with equal revelation, for he pulled my hood back completely and growled in his native tongue, most likely demanding my name and origin and why I had attacked him. When I did not give an answer, he flushed himself against my body, one of his hidden blades pressing dangerously hard against my throat, repeating himself. I could feel my breath thinning as he hissed; the blunt side of the blade continued to slowly strangle me. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as my body writhe in its need for air. I felt faint, light headed… and embarrassingly aroused.  
  
Reflecting on it now, I wonder why the notion of having my life taken away by this frighteningly familiar man excited me so. I remember my cock jolting to half stand as my head slowly lost circulation. As I felt the last of my life edge from my throat, the hidden blade released itself from against my jugular and the sound of the man’s gasp fluttered across my ear.  
  
Had he gasped? Or perhaps groaned. This, I’m unsure. But I vividly recall spotting the man looking between our crotches. He’d felt my arousal; I could tell by the feral smirk that developed along his scared lips. I could feel his shaded eyes roasting through my robes and as he sat up. The predator has captured a fellow predator; predators do not kill other predators… they score them.  
  
I remember laying still after witnessing that smirk; his daunting observations of my body tickling nerves underneath my skin that I didn’t realize existed. After having his mental fill of me, he slipped a knife from his waist belt, holding it in a hand that seemed cloaked in armor. The sharpened blade and armor absorbed the moonlight gorgeously… and reflected into the man’s shielded eyes.  
  
They were a golden honey, similar to my own. Who was this man?  
  
I remember not dwelling on this question for long as the knife hovered over my leather holster, the blade so polished that with a few precise movements, my equipment slid from my robes, to which the man examined briefly before throwing away, doing the same to my leather waist belt. Through my thin robes, my skin was slowly responding, bumps dotting me everywhere as my breath hitched from every ‘accidental’ scrap of the blade.  
  
The danger of the knife went straight to my groin. I could read it in his movements the he was purposefully making sure not to touch my crotch; my body squirmed against the traveling blade, wishing for some sort of harsher action. I was surprised by my sheer eagerness for a wound; did I wish for death? Or did I wish for that delectable pain?  
  
I remember clamping over my bottom lip as my assaulter carved my white robes, slipping it down the middle at an agonizingly slow pace. My body withered to this torture, my chest torn between arching towards the blade to receive pain and pushing back within the hay to stay clear. The man decided for me, the tip of the weapon occasionally pricking into my flesh. With every sporadic cut, my cock jumped with anticipation and my breath gagged in my throat.  
  
I thought the man would be done with the knife after slicing down to my red sash, but it was not to be so as he raised the blade and proceeded to slash randomly across my chest. Unable to withhold my blossoming desires, my mouth parted with vulgar moans.  
  
I remember my cock pulsed angrily for attention, as it –too- wished to be carved with this man’s blade. The smell of blood only caused me to groan louder, as did the man over me, who's breath had quickened at the sight of red staining my robes. He ceased and took the time to admire his work before taking hold of the shredded remains of my clothes, ripping them open like a vest. I sucked in breath, quivering as the man’s imagined gaze locked onto one of my nipples which had been untouched from his vicious carving. They hardened and rose underneath his intense stare, the chill of the night only causing them to pebble faster. He licked his lips and dragged the knife about my nipples, the stained tip dancing about the outer rim. I struggled against my restraints, the anxiousness definitely clear on my face.  
  
I remembered hissing at him to stop, my chest –my nipples- being my weak spot. His response was that of a dark foreboding chuckle speckled with mirth. He spoke to me in his native language, the tone taunting and teasing. Maybe even demeaning.  
  
He ignored my demand and made a deliberately round cut about my dusty flesh, causing my teeth to sink deep into my lip, bruising them. Somewhere deep within my mentality, I remember trying to fight back again at this point; I wouldn’t give this man the pleasure of hearing me moan again, even if I desperately wished to. I glared at him as the knife lifted from my chest, only to be enchanted by his erotic display of cleaning the soiled blade with his tongue. My cock danced in my breeches. He lowered the blade over the other reddened bud, making near identical cuts that caused me to grit my teeth. I didn't moan; I couldn’t allow it, even though I remember the pain being so excruciatingly delightful. My will power staggered and I demanded louder, shouting to the man to stop tormenting me and simply kill me, but my voice was far from the level of authority it could be.  
  
As expected, the man’s response was nothing less than mocking, but unlike other instances, out of some miracle, I could start to understand him: “Your body does not seem to be in a state of torment, my stalker.” Those words still tingle in my ears.  
  
Taken aback by the clarity of understanding I had for his words, as well as the sensuality underlining his tone, a tiny noise -not a moan- released unyieldingly from my throat as the knife dragged down the middle of my chest and around my stomach. I could feel blood pool within the dip of my torso, followed by the man’s greedy mouth wrapping around the pool. His tongue wiggled within my naval, the suction against the wounds almost causing me to cry out with pleasure. But I stilled my desire, merely biting harder, my body compensating for my lack of verbal release.  
  
As he suckled, the knife continued onward past my torso and about my crotch, causing my neglected arousal to twitch with glee, but only my arousal. Instinctively, my hips moved away from the blade for fear of my manhood. But with the man’s weight mostly on my legs, there was little shuffling away from the ominous weapon.  
  
The man spoke again at my fidgeting, his lips tugging into that teasing smirk. “So jumpy…” His baritone voice reverberated all about my body, causing me to quiver. I was almost too distracted by his voice to realize that his blade was cutting a crude opening within my breeches, the breeze of the night flowing between by thighs. I shouted at him to stop, my anxiousness increasing the strength in my voice, but he replied to my demand with his hidden blade poised against my jugular. His voice was… forcefully suave; the tone of a purr.  
  
“Be silent or you’ll alert the night guards.”  
  
I found myself relaxing in a near instant, but unsure as to why. These guards that the man spoke of could have helped me escape his molestation. I tried talking myself into believing that I stopped moving away from the intrusive blade because of the possibility of a slip up against my manhood. My quickened pulse spoke more truthfully; I wanted more of this man’s torture and struggling only prolonged his, potentially more brutal, actions. Despite my denial to moan, my body could not lie.  
  
I wanted harder,  _rougher_  treatment and that desire must have reflected clearly from my eyes. He gave me that smirk again and, as if rewarding me for my submission, nuzzled the tip of the hidden blade across my neck and jaws in a morbid display of affection. My eyes half lid, I unconscious craned my head, allowing the blade access to my vulnerable throat. So distracted was I by the caress of the hidden blade that I hadn’t noticed that the secondary blade had finished cutting a hole in the crotch of my pants. I and the man gasped breathlessly as my erection actually twitched out on its own, then rested on my abdomen. Blood mixed with that of my pre-fluid, the dim lighting causing my cock to look like a freshly cut piece of meat.  
  
I can feel the man’s attention snap from my face to my nethers, his hidden blade retracting into its coil. The knife, now his main weapon once again, dragged up and down the main vessels in my cock, causing my hips to press against the roofing, but my cock to pulse delightfully against the blade. I growl slightly louder as the blade’s tip dares to dip within my slit, but my traitorous cock continued to pulse and jump with glee towards this painful torture… I remember thinking that my instincts were slowly being destroyed by my newfound masochism… and how I didn’t care at this point.  
  
I was so hard that my sac must have been the shade of the darkest of sunsets. I recall cursing through clenched teeth and the man chuckling in response. Once again, I quiver in being able to understand him: “Well, since you asked so nicely.”  
  
Had that man mistook my hiss for a sound of discomfort or had he simply been continuing his torture; that still boggles my mind, but after whispering to me in that husky foreign tongue, he lifted his body from over my own, knife dancing between his fingertips as his other hand rested at his side. My cock painfully pulsed as if to compensate for the lack of stimulation, my body withering underneath his weight while I continued to deny this man my moans. He would get none from me, even if he stopped! My eyes snapped open when he ceased all of his touches and jerked at my wrists restraints, growling at him in my foreign tongue:  
  
“Why did you stop?” Why had I asked this? I admit that I spoke this before thinking, but at that point, I wanted nothing more than for that blade’s kiss upon my skin... but why? Why did I torture myself by restraining my moans while allowing pleasure to flow through me like a plague? Was I truly hurting this man by denying him the sound of my groans... or was I hurting myself... pleasuring myself...  
  
Somehow, he could read the tone in my voice, and responded: “Just to see you squirm.” The cocky, boastful pitch in his voice instilled me with a new rage, but also reminded me of just who was truly in control here. For all my growling, hissing, and snarling, this man was in control and showed it when he bluntly shoved his hand down over my wounded chest, causing me to FINALLY scream in pain… wonderful, joyous  _pain_. His rough pads dug into my wounds, widening cuts to start to bleed once more.  
  
“Give me a sign that you want more.” he chortled as removed his hand, licking his fingers of blood.  
  
I had been presented with his ultimatum. Throughout this molestation, I had been teetering on the line between rejection and lust, mostly upon the side of the latter. But now the man had given me a seemingly simple choice; I either fully embrace this painful pleasure, or I fully reject it. I remember my mind spun in different directions, wondering if my heart was hammering in my chest from the prospective consequences of saying "yes" or from the loss of blood my body had suffered. Had my cheeks started to burn from the promise of pleasures to come, or out of anger that this man would have me lower myself in such a lewd manner?  
  
Or perhaps I wanted to be lewd. And that’s when I remember that my mind, passions, and instincts all merged into one, no longer clashing with each other for control of my spirit. I WANTED this man; however he may present it to me. Through the knife, through his hidden blades, though anything else he might have been carrying on him: I desired this man more… than I wished to breathe.  
  
I lifted my hips as much as I could, given the man’s weight. Coupled with my raised hips, I  _whimpered_ , losing my internal fight of feigning verbal pleasures. The man’s reply to my “sign” could only be described as a sultry purr: “That will do.”  
  
I wasn’t able to see the man’s next movements very well, having to strain my neck to watch. The man knelt between my legs, raising my hips high enough to level with his face. I groaned shamelessly as he rested my thighs upon his shoulders, his prickly stubble sending pleasant sparks through my spine. My groan merged into a thorough cry as his moist, tight mouth engulfed my erection, devouring it completely. His stubble massaged my sac as the tip of my cock dangled in his throat, causing my hips to convulse and jerk and my back to crane. His mouth was… indescribable; supple, taunt, wet and sloppy, yet neat and firm around my girth.  
  
Similar to how a certain-significant-other-of-mine's ass feels... but Malik was far from my mind during the duration of this hallucination.  
  
His tongue did most of the work, swirling around me while his throat flexed around my head. My senses were being driven to the point of insanity, but I resisted the urge to raise my voice past the heaving pants that currently passed through my lips. I didn’t want the guards to come near.  
  
However, my urgency to stay as quiet as possible was dissolved temporarily as his mouth was replaced with the armored hand. The freezing steel clasped about my cock with such force, that it stung. I wanted more of that pain and I screamed for it: “More!”  
  
I received more, but not in the force of more pain. I remember not being disappointed, however, for what I gained from my outburst was a vicious lick to my anus, a worm-like intruder slipping inside me like a rat does his burrow hole. It explored, prodded and, poked about inside me while the shimmering hand ran long, exhaustive strokes about my cock, my pre-fluid making the armor even more glistened.  
  
With his tongue lapping at my insides, fiercely coupled with his methodical stroking, this man had me moaning with no sound with which to fill them. My calves locked against his back, knees crushing his head. My arms started to struggle happily against their binding and my back clinched into its arch position, my orgasm racing to my groin. In sensing my release, the man’s hands stroked my flanks and down to my hips, fingernails becoming coated in dried blood. His tongue dove deeper into my flesh… and he  _moaned_.   
  
The vibrations knocked along the walls of my engorged member, causing me to lose myself against my torso and chest, a small amount managing to hit between my eyes. So far was I in the realm of climax that an overwhelming pain did not register until seconds later. At the same instance of my release, his duel blades activated, diving smoothly into both sides of my gut. Blood oozed from the depths of my wounds, dripping onto the hay as well as dancing down the ripples of my back.  
  
I remember coughing up red as the man unceremoniously dropped my thighs from his shoulders, my body a quivering heap of dying flesh before him. As he stood, my vision growing blurry, I vividly recall my last words, whispering to a man who probably could still not understand me:  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
He took a moment to yank his sword free from the roofing, as if sensing that I could do no more harm. He turned his head towards me, dangled the sword over my heart, and pulled back his hood. I could hardly see his face at this point with my worsening vision, but it was his eyes, those burning golden eyes, that hold in my memory strongest. His eyes and that confident, smug smirk reminded me  **too**  much of myself. Was he...?  
  
“Ezio Auditore da Firenze. An honor to meet you… ancestor.”  
  
The hallucination ended the instant the sword was to pierce through my body. Malik stood before me, calling out to me, his hands soaked in my sweat.  
  
I’ve seen my equal, my predecessor, the future of my seed in this Ezio character, and words cannot express my profound pride. By what I perceived in my dream, I can rest easy knowing that he’ll match, and most likely surpass, me in skill. However, two things still grate at my consciousness after experiencing the Apple’s forced hallucination:  
  
Exactly HOW will my seed travel into the next generation given my preferences and should I ask Malik to be a bit more... forceful during coupling? Upon further reflection, I’ve decided that I will not peer into the Apple in order to find out the answer to the firstly stated; I don’t want to make any  **conscious**  decisions that may cause Ezio not to exist.   
  
And Malik is rough in bed by default, so asking him to be even more abrasive will take minimal effort.

**Author's Note:**

> Re-Posted to AO3  
> Written on March 18th 2010


End file.
